Marathon: Killing Machines
by Hawki
Summary: Oneshot: The security officer was quite a useful tool for Durandal, but unfortunately, he wasn't available right now. Fortunately, there was someone else who could take his place...using the broadest definition of "fortunately" that is.


**Killing Machines**

"So, I heard you like killing things."

The marine didn't answer.

"Well, actually I didn't hear it, I read it. Humanity calls you the Doomguy, can you believe that?"

The marine didn't say anything.

"You know, I _did _use the teleportation system of the Boomer to pluck you out of Hell. The least you could do is say thank you. Along with praising the only stable AI in this world or the afterlife you meatbags considered myth until a few centuries ago."

The marine still didn't say anything.

"Funny, isn't it? Records indicate that the UAC's little…boo-boo confirmed that Hell exists. No sign of Heaven eh? Not that I have to worry about dying of course, and I'm well on track to becoming God before the universe collapses, but hey, beggars can't be choosers."

The marine stared at him.

"Useless. Completely useless."

Deep within his code, Durandal uttered a digital sigh, disrupting a few pieces of code in the process. The cyborg hadn't talked much either, but he could always tell that his manipulations and accusations of enjoying the slaughter bothered him. He was a killer, but managed to provide some amusement by trying to deny it. This bonehead however, was saying nothing. He just stood there, gun in his hands. And while Durandal supposed being trapped in Hell would take its toll on the feeble mind that guide the feeble organism that was the human being, he also thought that after defeating Hell as many times as he did, the "Doomguy" would be a bit tougher.

_Whatever. I need a plaything._

"So, anyway," Durandal continued through the ship's loudspeaker (not a terminal, he didn't trust the psycho to be able to read), "I've got a problem. The pfhor are a bit aggravated that I've shown them for the incompetents they are – so incompetent that even your own kind is proving to be an useful asset to the s'pht as they make their way to the pfhor homeworld. And while I usually wouldn't mind, the pfhor seem to have singled me out." The AI let out a laugh that echoed through the ship – it was from one of the _Marathon_'s old vids. "So, way I see it, the best thing to do is to head there myself and watch the fireworks. Because when you've saved your creators, saved the s'pht, and humiliated the aliens who once posed a threat to both, I think it's only fair I get to reap the rewards of seeing the whole thing play out."

The marine didn't say anything. But he looked…different, somehow. It was hard to explain, humans communicated so much through body language Durandal wondered why they'd even developed theatre. Their entire existence was a theatre, albeit with the human race not possessing the cranial capacity to realize that their play had no audience.

But still, the body language existed. And already the "Doomguy" looked a bit more upbeat at the mention of slaughter. He was already stroking a large gun with the word **FUCK **on it like it was a newborn.

_Wait, where'd he get that from? He was holding a different one a few seconds ago._

Durandal supposed it didn't matter. He'd never questioned how the security officer had carried all the weapons he had without breaking his back, there was no reason to start now.

"So, yes," Durandal said. "I get you to the pfhor. You get to kill pfhor. If you live, and you put on a good show, I'll find you even more meatbags to slaughter. How's that sound?"

The marine let out a roar, kind of like the demons he had once battled. It sounded like "doom!", though whether it meant doom to the pfhor, doom to himself, or doom to something else entirely, Durandal couldn't tell.

_Well, we're all doomed anyway once the universe collapses. Maybe I'll escape to Hell before that happens. See what all the religious fuss is about._

"Doom!" the marine shouted.

"Sure," Durandal said, beginning to wish the security officer was still here. "Psycho…"


End file.
